There are those who bark and bite
their tools are made of fear
Fear keeps everything in order
The virtues of fear are too many to list
It can even render you short of breath
and short of everything that is life
Fear is living death

There are those who puss and purr
Sleek and soft full of inducements
For whom life is a seduction
A sweet poison of the marketmen
Tying you up not in chains but in silks
Entangling you in ways
That does not leave you any way

There are those who grunt
and of course stink. To get
the right kind of grunt you
have to bend and snivel and give
something to ingest. Their official sty
is a place you dread but there
is no way you can avoid this slime

There are those who nibble
at all that is yours. There is no
sanctity for your bridal dress or
your long departed grandmother’s
What you worship they will work at
Nothing remains unexplored, they could
even invade your soul. O’ soulmates